


Fatherly Love

by lasergirl



Category: Spiderman - Fandom
Genre: Hallucinations, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-18
Updated: 2010-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasergirl/pseuds/lasergirl





	Fatherly Love

  
After you take that Parker boy, then you can have Harry.

Norman stopped, stunned, his spine crooked into a painful question mark. Bone-white fingers clutched at the overstuffed arm of his wingback chair. The face in the mirror stared back with terrible eyes.

"What did you say?"

You heard me. You weak, pathetic creature. Norman, you NEED me. Would you be able to do half of what you wanted without me?

"He's my SON goddammit, what kind of pervert are you?"

The laugh was low and mocking and it chilled him.

Look in the mirror, Norman. What kind of pervert are YOU?

It took every effort for Norman to drag his unwilling body away from the mirror, the laugh echoing in his skull. He fumbled with the heavy scotch bottle, slopping whisky across the sideboard and onto the carpet. His hand shook so much when he raised the glass that he had to use his other to guide it to his lips. The alcohol burned down his throat and evaporated on his tongue.

"I'm not a monster, it wasn't my fault. You've seen how Harry looks at me. Sometime he's so much like his mother that I--"

Take him, Norman.

"No!"

The highball glass shattered in his hands, shards lancing through his fingertips and spattering blood droplets across the carpet. The Goblin laughed.

He wants it. Your son is a whore, always around his best friend, hanging on his sleeve. Do you want him to be like that forever? You have to show him, Norman, show him what it's like to be fucked over by the ones he loves. You have to be the one to show him before it's too late!

Bonelessly, Norman sagged to the carpet, his bloodied hands dragging cryptic trails across the Persian carpet. A low moan escaped his throat; almost a sob.

Don't cry for the boy's innocence, Norman, he won't miss it. After all, you didn't miss yours.


End file.
